


Hors d'oeuvre

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dom/sub, Dominance, Ficlet, M/M, Mirror Universe, Oral Sex, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:46:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pavel’s prime for the ambassador.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hors d'oeuvre

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The ambassador is strange and enigmatic. He looks very much like his younger counterpart, except that the years have worn on him, sagged his skin and cut in lines. Pavel only takes in a peripheral sweep of the sight—the long, intricate grey robes and the close-cropped silver hair, the elegantly pointed ears and the rigid Vulcan posture. Then Pavel averts his eyes back to the floor where they belong. He’s always been a good, dutiful yeoman, and though his new charge is an intimidating legend, Pavel intends to continue that way.

He bends until his forehead touches the floor, elbows against his knees. He listens to the shuffling noises of Spock’s robes sweeping around him, but he doesn’t move, not until he’s told to. There’s a good chance he’ll be deemed unfit; Vulcans often prefer other Vulcans. Or perhaps Pavel will simply be too _young_. Or too small. Or not pretty enough. It’s not his place to decide—not yet. A part of him hopes he’ll be spared having to please such an old, haggard man, but the rest is _thrilled_ at the prospect of having _Spock_. He could never hope to touch the one native to his own time. But this one... this one is just as powerful and, in some ways, just as beautiful.

One fingertip presses into the small of Pavel’s back, and he shivers. The collar, embroidered with the rank of his current station, is the only thing he’s wearing. His breath catches, short in anticipation. There’s no way to be certain, but he thinks that if he weren’t wanted, he wouldn’t be touched. Vulcans take contact seriously. Another finger lands next to the first, and together, the two glide down his spine. It’s a simple, impossibly sensual touch, and Pavel bites the inside of his lip to withhold his delight. 

Spock stops at the top of Pavel’s ass, though Pavel wishes he’d continue. Instead, Pavel’s curls are gently tugged, and he sits up, legs spreading naturally, while Spock strolls around to his front. 

Spock extends only a hand, face as expressionless as any other Vulcan’s in the Empire, and Pavel doesn’t need to be told what to do. He knows he isn’t being invited to the grand bed at the back of the quarters—not yet, anyway. He’s being offered a chance to prove himself, and he eagerly rises to the occasion, leaning forward with his mouth open.

Vulcan skin isn’t quite as salty as humans’. It’s bland, mostly, but not unpleasant; Spock tastes clean. Pavel licks at Spock’s index finger first, drawing his small, pink tongue slowly up to the knuckle, and then he drags it back down, stopping to brush his bottom lip along Spock’s nail. He wants to lock his lips around it, but he does the preliminaries first. He laps away at each of Spock’s fingers in turn, lavishing each long, aged digit in its own special attention. They remain limp and warm under his ministrations, so Pavel is free to guide himself, and he goes slowly because of it, pulling out all the stops. When all four fingers are coated in saliva, Pavel kisses each one of Spock’s knuckles, and then he nuzzles his face into Spock’s thumb.

He licks at it for a bit, something like a kitten with milk. After several strokes, Spock turns his hand over, and Pavel mewls and delightedly runs his tongue up and over Spock’s palm, tracing one line after another. He buries his face in it and scatters it in kisses, and when he glances up once to check, Spock’s face looks mildly pleased. Or as pleased as those neutral masks ever can; at least, Pavel tells himself, Vulcans tend to look less cruel than humans in the Empire.

Spock twitches his index finger against Pavel’s chin, and Pavel, instantly taking the hint, ducks down to kiss the tip. He parts his lips around it and pops on a second later, sealing his lips tightly around its girth. He hums happily on it, feeding Spock the vibrations, and then he pushes himself further down in an on-and-off motion. He bobs on it, gently fucking his own mouth with the thin, long appendage, sinking deeper and deeper and letting it impale him more and more, until his lips reach the knuckle and there’s simply no more for him to take. He gives a small, contented suck, and Spock makes an almost inaudible noise: approval.

Pavel grins around his mouthful. His own cock twitches against his thigh, even though he’s well behaved enough not to touch it. A Vulcan, he thinks, might let him come; usually, revered officers simply ignore the pleasure of a lower-ranked crew member assigned to them, which is better than several typical alternatives. So Pavel lets himself harden and twitch until he’s told otherwise, and he sucks on Spock’s finger to return the favour. He sucks more and more, still bobbing, and after a few thrusts, Spock’s finger curls inside him and brushes along his tongue. Pavel moans instantly; he didn’t think he’d get participation. When he fantasized about the Enterprise’s young first officer brutally fucking him, he always figured the Vulcan would be entirely cold and unresponsive. But this Spock pets his tongue and even presses a second finger against his lips; Pavel releases the first to suck up the middle. He impales himself on it the same way, and then he lets go and takes the next finger, then the pinky. He fucks himself on each in turn, and then he opens his mouth wide, tongue hanging out, and he stares pleadingly up at the ambassador; he wants permission to take _more_.

Ambassador Spock lifts one regal eyebrow. Pavel’s cheeks are pink, his lips slightly swollen and stained with spit, but he stays as he is. He’s rewarded with two fingers on his tongue—the two that Vulcans use when they’re intimate. Pavel, fighting to control his own ecstasy, plunges himself onto those fingers, and he begins to vigorously take them again and again. The blunt nails hit the back of his throat a few too many times, but Pavel doesn’t care; he has the honour of servicing _Ambassador Spock_. Tonight, he’s a very lucky creature, and he takes pride in that and throws it deeper into his performance, rocking and sucking and nearly writhing on Spock’s digits, moans mingled with whimpers and groans. 

He knows he’s been successful when Spock sighs peacefully. But then he pulls his fingers out, and Pavel whines at the loss, open mouth trailing after them. A split second later, he’s sitting still and trying not to pout, and then the hand’s coming back; he smiles again.

He shuts his eyes just in time, and Spock wipes his spit-slicked fingers off on Pavel’s face, using Pavel like a cheap towel. Pavel doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think the ambassador has come yet, though with Vulcans, it can be difficult to tell, so he opens his mouth to offer more of his services. 

He isn’t surprised when the hair at the back of his head is grabbed in a tight fist, and the other hand shoves its way between Pavel’s parted lips, all five digits at once. Pavel nearly chokes on the intrusion, but he doesn’t; he masters himself; he’s a good boy; his thighs squeeze together and squirm at the idea of _Spock_ fucking him. But that’s precisely what’s happening. The fact that the hand in his mouth is older and wrinkled than the Spock he’s always imagined doesn’t matter. If anything, it just makes him feel _filthier_ ; what a slut he is, getting off on sucking an old man’s fingers. He moans and slumps giddily in Spock’s grip. His jaw practically tries to unhinge itself in an effort to please his temporary master. Maybe, just maybe, if he’s good enough, he’ll graduate from Spock’s fingers and get to taste Spock’s dick, too, and _oh_ , he wants that so _badly_...

Spock finishes suddenly and without warning, hand shuddering in Pavel’s mouth for barely a moment before it slips away. A trickle of saliva follows it, and Pavel nearly gags at being so abruptly released, but he can’t chase it this time; Spock’s still holding his hair. The second wet hand is wiped on his face again, and then both of them withdraw, and Pavel’s left to bite his lip in the absence, eyes staring pleadingly up at the illustrious time-jumping diplomat.

Pavel’s heart nearly stops while he waits for a reaction—any reaction. Even post-orgasm, Spock remains impassive. After a minute of studying Pavel’s face, he comments thoughtfully with a wistful look in his eyes, “You are very different from the Chekov in my world.” Pavel blushes immediately; he would never have presumed to be on the ambassador’s radar. Perhaps he was aboard the Enterprise in the other past. For now, it doesn’t really matter. He shifts slightly, cock still very hard in his lap, but of course, he doesn’t mention it.

He doesn’t have to. Spock glances down at it and muses, “You enjoy pleasing old men?”

Pavel bends back to the floor, his head now between Spock’s legs; his ears brush Spock’s feet on either side. It’s mostly to hide his burning cheeks. He murmurs obediently, “Yes, master. I am yours.” He doesn’t cater to a vanity Vulcans never have by arguing Spock’s age.

He stays on the floor, because when Spock’s robes slink to the ground a moment later, the position helps conceal Pavel’s shamefully excited smile. Something tells him he’s going to enjoy pleasing this old man very, _very_ much.


End file.
